


A stitch in time

by violetknights



Series: Boys will be boys [4]
Category: SPN
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-17
Updated: 2007-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:52:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetknights/pseuds/violetknights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is trying hard to be a normal kid while at Stanford. He's really enjoying his first summer vacation working and hanging out at the beach. Then Dean comes back and he's hurt - really hurt. Will they be able to find peace and regain the trust that there used to be between them or is it too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A stitch in time

Most of his friends have gone back home for the summer vacation, twelve weeks of reunions and mom’s apple pie. Sam stays in Palo Alto because he has a job waiting tables in a little seafood Cafe near the beach and where would he go anyway?

For the first time ever Sam feels that he’s got time on his hands. He’s done all the extra credit assignments he can; the Café closes at three and then the rest of the day is his. He uses the time to do silly things, normal things. He likes to walk on the beach, go to the library – to check out actual books, not do research. He runs in the park and goes to the food markets. Sam has discovered that he loves to cook, nothing fancy just stir fries and simple stuff; Mike at the café has taught him to make a mean Gumbo.

It is part way through the vacation, still another five weeks till his classes start again and Sam is if not happy, then at least contented for the first time since he left his brother.

Thursday morning is Sam’s turn to go to the Quay and see what fish is fresh off the boats; it gives Sam an unusual sense of pride that Mike trusts him to do this. Sam chooses carefully, deliberating over the fresh catch, knowing his choice will impact on the day’s menu.

When Sam has finished his shift, he helps Mike with the food prep for the evening. Then he packs himself a picnic of leftovers from the café kitchen and heads down to the beach. Sam’s been reading this really great book and he wants to get it finished. He’s never really had time for fiction before, not unless it’s for school, but this one had caught his eye at the library so he’d checked it out along with his next semester’s course texts.

In the book the great detective is crippled, but has a brilliant mind locked in his paralysed body, he solves all these crimes by brain power alone; Sam thinks it’s kind of cool. There’s also some neat tips on searching crime scenes, he’s definitely going to buy Luminol off e-bay when he’s got some spare cash.

So he plasters on sun screen and lies on the beach, reads his book, eats his shrimp and salad, drinks a diet coke. When he’s had enough he decides to head for home and shop for groceries on the way.

He gets some great bargains and is humming happily to himself and planning his evening meal as he strolls along the sidewalk towards his apartment. Parked in the alley outside is the last thing he’d expected to see, the Impala. No question, he knows it despite the number plates that have changed yet again.

Sam breaks into a half run when he realizes there is a figure slumped over the steering wheel. Dropping his grocery sacks he wrenches open the door to see who it is.

“Dean!” His brother is waxy pale and breathing in short huffing pants, blood oozes through the fabric of his shirt and stains down his side.

As carefully as he can, Sam eases Dean out of the Impala, then he half drags, half carries him inside and hauls him upstairs. Dean is barely conscious as Sam lays him on the bed and runs down to check the car. He knows it contains a first aid kit that is more comprehensive than his own. He snags Dean’s keys out of the ignition and locks the car again, retrieves his food shopping then goes back in. He takes the stairs three at a time in his haste to be back with his brother.

When he gets back Dean is conscious again, “Hey Sam!” he mutters weakly, “I was just passin’.”

“Dude what happened?” Sam’s voice is trembling, he hasn’t seen or heard from Dean in a year and then he shows up like this.

“Nothing, ‘s just a flesh wound!” he jokes, despite being so weak from blood loss he can’t move.

Sam gently peels off Dean’s shirt to find a deep, jagged tear in his brother’s side that reaches from his hip to his armpit, the wound a gaping maw of clots, already showing puffy red and oozing at the edges.

“Shit Dean, this is bad, we got to get you to a hospital.”

“You do it,” Dean orders. “There were cops involved; I can’t go to a hospital.” Sam nods the training still too ingrained for him to disobey. Swiftly he assembles what he needs, boils the kettle to sterilize needle and thread, finds clean towels, cotton swabs, dressings.

Dean’s eyes are glazed and his teeth have begun to chatter. Sam swaddles a comforter around as much of Dean as he dares, he wishes he could give Dean something to numb the pain but he doesn’t have anything stronger than beer. Tenderly he starts to use swabs of cotton to clean the wound; he’s got to get rid of the mess before he can begin to stitch his brother back together.

Dean’s breath hisses through his teeth just a little but he’s stoic as usual; barely even flinching when Sam makes the first careful stitch. Dean’s flesh is as familiar to Sam as his own, he wonders a little crazily if he should be stitching from freckle to freckle, like a join the dots pattern. He stops for a second and takes a deep breath, of all the ways he’d imagined being with Dean again this wasn’t one of them.

Ten stitches done now and he’s kept them as tiny and neat as he knows how, he hates to leave marks on Dean’s skin, well not permanent ones anyway. Dean is so still Sam is afraid he’s passed out until his low throaty whisper says “keep going, dude.”

Sam does as he’s told, another piece of thread and the needle sterilized again in boiling water and he starts again. He swabs away the ooze then pulls the edges of the wound together so he can hold them in place with his even tiny stitches. He shouldn’t be this good at it, shouldn’t have had as much practice as he has.

When he’s finished, he dusts the neat seam with antibiotic powder, though he’s afraid it’s too late to prevent the infection from taking hold. Dean’s skin has changed from waxen to flushed, his eyes glitter and don’t quite focus. Sam puts the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead, and sure enough fever is heating Dean’s skin, making it flushed and clammy.

Once the wound is dressed Sam eases Dean’s jeans off, slings his brother’s boots in the corner. Once Dean is tucked up safe in Sam’s bed he falls asleep or unconscious almost at once. Sam rolls him onto his uninjured side and makes sure his breathing is steady before he leaves Dean’s side.

Sam spends a few minutes clearing away the bloodied rags, repacking the first aid kit. There are some antibiotic capsules left from when he had strep throat in the winter; he’ll give them to Dean when he wakes.

Dean snores a little, shifting uneasily in his sleep. Sam stops what he’s doing to help Dean settle down; he rubs his brother’s shoulder, and murmurs soothing nonsense at him until he is calm again.

Sam moves round his small home, neatly disposing of the garbage and unpacking his shopping. The eggs had broken when he’d dropped the bags but most of the mess had been contained within the carton. Everything else is fine and he puts the vegetables in the cupboard, puts the chicken and milk in the fridge.

It feels odd but strangely right to have Dean in his home, already Dean’s presence dominates the place, his boots in the corner and his keys on the table. And of course his half naked body filling Sam’s bed. Which mean Sam gets the couch, or he would do, only he thinks Dean might be really sick. The hand he places back on Dean’s forehead is practically sizzling.

Sam fetches a glass of water and tries to get Dean to take the antibiotics and Tylenol, water splashes onto Dean’s chest and he moans. Sam finds a washcloth and tries to cool Dean down; damping the soft flannel and running it over Dean’s fever heated skin. Dean gives a little groan and leans into Sam’s capable touch. “It’s okay Dean, I’ve got you, settle down.”

After a little while Dean seems more peaceful, and the fever eases off a bit. Sam goes to try and make himself some dinner, but Dean starts to moan and mutter as soon as Sam leaves his side. Sam gives up on getting anything else done because Dean is calm only when Sam is with him.

Sam fetches a basin of cool water and a clean washcloth, gets a bottle of water from the fridge for Dean. Then he gets his book from his duffle, makes himself a coffee, he’ll need it to stay awake. Carefully, so as not to aggravate Dean’s wound, he climbs on the bed beside Dean and snuggles in close, so that Dean can feel he is there. Dean shifts over a little. “Sammy,” he mutters plaintively.

“I’m here Dean,” Sam soothes. It feels strange to be taking care of his brother again after so long. He can’t remember the first wound he stitched, the first hunt where he had been expected to patch up Dad or Dean; just seemed like as soon as he was old enough to be left while Dean went hunting with Dad he’d been expected to take over the first aid.

The washcloth is warm now so Sam wrings it out again, smoothing it over the familiar contours of his brother’s face; tracing the fine ridge of his nose, up the freckled cheekbones, over the slight lines of his forehead. When Dean moans a little through parched lips Sam pours a few drops of cool water between them, watching in fascination as Dean’s tongue comes forward to search out the liquid.

Sam wonders if he’ll ever feel that tongue again, tracing paths that sear like flames on his skin, licking into his mouth, flicking over the tip of his cock. Sam suppresses a groan and slurps his coffee down too hot so that it burns his mouth. Given the things they’d said to each other when he’d left it was highly unlikely that anything would happen between them again.

The night was very long and passed very slowly. Every time Dean moved Sam was there, cooling him down, feeding him sips of water, giving him more medicines. Finally, at about 3am, the fever abates and Dean’s sleep becomes easier. Exhausted now, Sam finally allows himself to curl in next to his brother and sleep.

Sam wakes up to the sound of a pain filled gasp as Dean stumbles off the bed; he lies on the floor cursing. Instantly wide awake Sam is at Deans side supporting him to stand up, “What‘re you doing? Are you going?” Panic making him sound desperate, needy but for a moment he doesn’t care, he’s only just got Dean back, he’s not ready to lose him again yet.

“I need to take a leak, dumb ass!”

“Oh!” Sam feels weak-kneed with relief as he supports his brother through to the tiny bathroom. Dean grabs hold of the door frame and gives Sam a little shove, making him feel strangely bereft.

“I can manage now Sasquatch! I’ll call you when I’ve finished”

It’s embarrassing how the teasing endearment makes his heart flip flop, wordlessly he nods and shuts the door, goes to the kitchen to make coffee.

Dean leans against the doorframe ‘cos he’s not really capable of supporting his own weight yet. He watches Sam move around the kitchen of this homey little apartment. He’d tried to picture his brother so many times over the past year but it had always been in terms of dorm rooms and frat boy parties; not this neat, lived in space that bears the stamp of his brother’s personality. It has never occurred to him that his geeky, gangly little brother could be like this, so casual, so competent at just living.

  
Dean feels his legs start to sag a little; the pain in his side is starting to burn and throb a little more intensely. “I need you Sammy!” Dean says softly, his words echo with the longing of a year’s worth of words left unspoken. Sam’s strong arms come round his waist and he feels totally supported by Sam’s steady strength.

As Sam lowers him onto the couch Dean squeezes his brother’s arm, “You been working out dude?” he smirks. Sam grins back, his delight in his brother total and obvious.

“It’s time for your meds,” he mutters, as he fusses round Dean, tucking a comforter round him, plumping the pillows.

“When are you going to the diner? I’m starved,” Dean grouses, and to his amazement Sam throws his head back and laughs, a full, throaty chuckle. It’s not a sound Dean’s heard very often and it thrills him somehow.

“Dude! I haven’t been to a diner for a year!” Sam says wiping his eyes as he finally stops laughing. “I’ll cook Breakfast for you but then I’ve got to go to work.”

Dean stares at his brother like Sam has grown another head or something. “You cook?” he asks incredulously.

“Sure, it’s cheaper for a start, and I kinda like it.” Sam looks so serious yet slightly embarrassed at the same time. It makes Dean think of the time when Sammy told him he’d tried out for the football team. “Go on then bro!” He waves his hand in the direction of the kitchen, “Cook me something big and manly.”

Without Sammy scrutinising his every gesture, Dean slumps back onto the pillows and closes his eyes. The pain is radiating through his body, his wound burns and throbs, but he doesn’t want to beg Sam again; he’s already given up the last scrap of pride he had left by coming to Sam at all. He could have gone to Caleb, or Bobby, even Pastor Jim; but no. Sam had been the only thought in his head when he’d escaped, wounded and bleeding from a shape shifter that had been working its way through the youth leaders of a Summer Camp.

He’ll never tell Sam but he drove over a hundred miles to get to his little brother the day before. It was like his narrow escape had suddenly pulled everything into focus, like anything he looked at led to Sam, whichever road he’d tried to follow would take him to Sam.

“Dean?” Sam’s soft voice breaks into his reverie. “Here take these now.” Sam’s giant hand wraps around his as he guides a glass of juice to Dean’s lips, helps him swallow the pills. Dean feels the world tilt a little, a low roaring in his ears, he feels rather than sees the juice glass tumble to the ground as the world sparkles into darkness.

  
When he wakes he can see from the way the light filters into the room that it is late afternoon. He is tucked up in Sam’s bed, Sam is half sitting in a chair beside him but has leaned his arms onto the bed and fallen asleep. Weakly Dean lifts his hand and tangles it into Sam’s hair, threading his fingers through the soft, curling hairs on the back of Sam’s neck.

The pain in his side is a little easier, but he still feels light headed. That could be hunger though. Dean flexes his hand, tugs a little harder at Sam’s hair; he is rewarded by a little moan that could be interpreted in so many ways.

“Dean!” Sam snarks sleepily as he sits up and stretches; cracking and popping out the tense muscles in his back. “How are you feeling now? You frightened the crap out of me.”

“Sorry dude, I didn’t mean to cause you all this hassle.” Dean wants to grab Sam’s arm, pull him closer but he feels weak as a kitten, unable to move. “You said you had to work.” Dean hates himself for being so needy, for a year he has stayed strong, watched Sam from a distance, been a good, little soldier for John. It has taken every ounce of strength and willpower he has to do what John asked of him and it was all crumbling, turning to ashes.

Sam’s big hand is on his face again, those long delicate fingers stroke his forehead, brush a tear from Dean’s cheek. “I’ve got you Dean, shh now! I’ve got you.” And Dean finds himself folded into the security of Sam’s arms. Now there is no fight left in him, no possible reason left to fight so when Sam’s lips search for his, Dean just settles into the sweetness and pushes all thoughts of John’s anger away.  
************************************

  
Dean sits at the table and clutches the coffee mug in his hands, his side hurts like a bitch but he isn’t going to admit it. Sam would only make him go and lie down again and Dean was enjoying watching Sam work. His brother is being so neat and precise as he assembles ingredients then preps them. Neat little heaps of celery, onion and peppers are diced and ready to go in the pan, which is sizzling on the cooker, already emitting the fragrant scent of garlic and other stuff Dean doesn’t recognize.

Sam is fast and careful as he chops sausage and chicken and peels shrimp. As Dean sips his coffee Sam is chattering about his course, some book he’s read, his job.

“Shit Dude! I made you miss work today!”

“It’s cool, I traded shifts with Carrie, she didn’t mind.” Sam flashes another of those blinding grins in his direction, Dean can feel it like a hand clenching around his heart, like a drug he’s been trying to kick is working its way back into his system.

Sam wanders past on his way to the fridge and absent-mindedly runs his hand through Dean’s hair. Dean leans into the heat of his brother’s body, realizes how much Sam has changed and grown, his baby brother has gone completely. He’s been replaced by this confident, competent man with the sculpted body who towers over him.

Sam holds Dean for a second more then gets the herbs from the fridge to add to his mixture. Dean watches as Sam adds and tastes and adds some more until he is satisfied. When he is nearly finished he puts rice on to boil, begins to set the table.

“This is just weird Dude!” Dean mutters, not really meaning it.

“You want to get cleaned up before we eat?” Sam replies peaceably.

Dean shakes his head, “Nah, I’m good thanks Mom!”

Sam flushes and turns back to add the shrimp, uses a teaspoon to dip out a little of the sauce, flashes his tongue at Dean as he licks the fragrant stew from the spoon.

When he’s finally presented with the steaming plate of Gumbo and Rice Dean thinks he’s never tasted anything so good in his life. Can’t let Sam get big headed though.

“I’m still hungry, there must be a Golden Arches round here somewhere,” he teases.

**********************************************

  
The routine is so schmoopy Dean feels like he should be sickened by it, only he isn’t. In the week since he has healed enough to be up and about again he has moulded himself around Sam’s life and it is scary how comfortable it feels. In the morning Sam cooks breakfast, eggs, toast, freshly squeezed juice. Dean grouches at him from the kitchen table, never his best until he’s had at least two cups of industrial strength coffee. Then Dean jogs in the park and watches daytime TV while Sam works.

At three Dean goes to pick Sam up, sits and watches the sea while he finishes up clearing tables and washing dishes. The first day he went there Sam introduced him to Mike, the guy he works with. “This is Dean, my b…” He’d hesitated and looked at Dean with a million questions in his eyes.

“His boyfriend, he‘s still kinda shy about it.” Dean had teased, and Mike had chuckled as he shook Dean’s hand. “Good to meet you, take good care of him you hear?” After that Mike brings Dean coffee and cherry pie while he waits for Sam to be finished.

They walk home slowly; sometimes along the beach, sometimes through the shops. Sam cooks dinner if he hasn’t brought something home from work; then they hang out, watch TV together. It is all so normal, so suburban, all the things Dean had thought he’d hate only he doesn’t. He can feel himself being sucked into it, wants to give himself over to being loved by Sam forever, to being safe.

Since that first gentle kiss, Sam has treated him like he’s made of glass. It’s a chick flick thing of the worst sort but deep inside it makes him feel special, he can’t remember being looked after like this before. Sitting on the couch beside Sam, belly full of the good food his little brother has cooked him Dean runs a tentative hand down his side, prods the healing wound and thinks Sam did a good job on it.

“Nice stitching Sam, it feels first-rate.”

Sam grins at him, happy as always with any praise from Dean.

Dean reaches up to run his finger over Sam’s lower lip, feels it warm and soft then gasps as Sam’s tongue flicks over his finger, moist and full of promise. Sam sucks Dean’s finger into his mouth, staring at him with heavy lidded eyes.

“Yeah, Sammy, yeah!” Dean breathes, knowing Sam is asking him about all the times he’d said no, all the things he’d done to drive Sam away. Pulling his finger from Sam’s mouth with a wet pop he grasps his brother’s face in his hands and pulls him in for a kiss that claims and begs at the same time. Dean is no good with words so he hopes his brother will understand this, because this is what Dean is good at. Dean’s tongue searching Sam’s mouth; his hands plucking at Sam’s shirt, his skilled fingers seeking out the sensitive spots on Sam’s neck that make him gasp and shiver.

They are both breathing faster now; it’s been so long since they’ve done this, a year of separation and six months of denial before that. It’s still easier than breathing though, remembering the things that each other likes, Dean’s tongue on Sam’s neck; Sam’s fingernails gently scratching Dean’s nipples.

The couch is too small, they’re both too tall to be making out like teenagers but it feels too right to stop. Dean can feel the need growing though and it’s just not going to be comfortable here. Not when Sam’s big cosy bed with its homey comforters is just in the next room. Almost reluctantly he pulls back a little, drags Sam to his feet, “Come on then boyfriend, I need you, need you inside me now.”

Sam grins at Dean again, happy and loose, lust shining through his eyes. He snags lube and condoms from the bathroom on the way and sheds his clothes as he approaches the bed. Dean is already naked, waiting. Sam climbs on the bed beside him, claims his mouth again as he slicks his fingers and eases one into Dean’s pliant body. By the time one finger has become two and then three Dean is writhing on the bed, moaning incoherently, almost sobbing as he stutters out Sam’s name over and over again.

“Steady now, steady,” Sam soothes; gently pulling his fingers back. Dean groans again; “Please Sammy, need you in me now.” It’s not like Sam needs any encouragement and he knows that Dean’s more than ready, he tries to ease himself in but it’s too good and he knows he’s thrusting too hard, too fast. Dean doesn’t care, he can take anything Sam can give and bucks up to meet his thrusts.

Sam angles himself carefully to keep his weight off Dean’s injured side, but he can see that Dean is too far gone to care. Sam can feel he’s close to coming so he wraps his hand round Dean’s dick, is rewarded with the clench of Dean’s muscles around his own cock. Moments later and Sam tumbles into the white out perfection of his orgasm, feels the burning splash of Dean’s release between their bellies.

  
**************************************************

The next day when Sam finishes work Dean isn’t there to eat the pie that Mike has saved for him. More than a little worried he hurries home, heart thudding as he unlocks the door. “Hi honey I’m home,” Sam’s voice is flat and dead as he jokes shakily; he knows already there will be no reply. Dean’s boots are gone, so is his jacket. There is no sign that Dean was ever here, just a note on the table, two words in Dean’s schoolboy scrawl, no apology, no endearments, no goodbye; just the two words that keep breaking Sam’s heart.

Dad called.

The End 


End file.
